


It's Your Fire

by Jevvica



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e15 Tuhon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jevvica/pseuds/Jevvica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would Callen really walk out of a burning building alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Related to Episode 5x15, “Tuhon”. If you haven't seen it, this one may seem a little odd.
> 
>  
> 
> I own very little and absolutely nothing related to NCIS:LA

* * *

 

“I'm walking out of there alone.” - Callen

 

* * *

 

_You're in a dark room. Everyone you love is in there._

When Callen opened his eyes, nothing changed at first. He lifted his head, murky light in the distance. He coughed, suddenly realizing how thick the air was. Smoke and dust.

Callen remembered now, the warehouse and looking for the stolen explosives.

The crate.

The crate that Sam had opened. The look of horror, the shouted warning.

The blast.

“Sam,” he called weakly. He felt sick and it was only partly due to the smoke. There was no answer, nothing to be seen in the darkness. He reached for his phone, but it was gone. Callen pushed himself off of the floor, but stayed low, feeling for anything. His cell, his partner, anything.

“Sam?” he tried again, louder. Nothing. No, not nothing. An ominous crackling and a glow.

_Flame comes out of no where._

Callen could see the outline of boxes, but as he moved closer, he saw a fire that was slowly building in the shattered remains of a crate.

The fire illuminated the piles of containers surrounding him. He stared at the boxes and boxes of explosives. Realization nearly paralyzed him. This place could blow sky high in a matter of minutes. He needed to move.

“Sam!”

In the light of the growing blaze, under a pile of smoldering wood, he saw a familiar boot.

_It's hot. Get's hotter._

Callen ran to Sam's side, lifting debris off his still partner. His sweaty fingers found a steady pulse, even though Sam's face was a mess of cuts and burns.

“Sam! Sam, buddy, I need you to wake up.” His hands hovered, wanting to touch, but afraid to cause more damage. “We gotta go, man. Open your eyes.” There was no response and despite the heat and the fire, Callen felt cold.

_Your heart starts pumping._

Moving Sam might kill him, but they couldn't stay here. He squinted at the light he'd seen before. The door. Fifty yards away. And Sam was over 200 pounds of dead weight.

_You can only take one person by the hand and lead them out. Who do you choose?_

“Sam!” Callen grabbed fistfuls of Sam's jacket, shaking gently. “Sam, please!”

_**I'm walking out of there alone.** _

No.

“No, not like this, you hear me?” Callen pivoted, using his grip on Sam's jacket to drag him across the floor, foot by foot.

“I'm not... leaving you.” Yard by yard.

“I refuse... to accept this.” He pulled Sam away from the licking flames.

“You are not... going to die here... and I am not... going to die here.” Away from containers of explosives.

“You are... going to be old... surrounded by great-grandchildren.” Callen moved his friend toward the promise of daylight and air.

“And I'm... going to die before you...” Ten yards left.

“You... are not... going to leave me... like this.” With his last gasped words, Callen broke into the sun. He gently laid Sam down, searching his pockets and pulling out his cell. The conversation was short, but Callen left the line open. Eric was sending the cavalry.

But they weren't safe, not yet. If any of that stuff blew, they were still too close. Callen stumbled to the Charger on wobbly legs, moving it as close to Sam as he could, putting it between them and the building.

“Big guy, I could really use some help here,” muttered Callen, wiping sweat from his face. A clothes drag was one thing, it was a controlled movement, though not ideal. But pulling him up into the car? “I did not lug your heavy ass this far for nothing.” He pressed his fingers to Sam's pulse, still there, and breathed for a moment. He couldn't see any other wounds, other than Sam's battered face.

“Eric! How long?” he shouted hoarsely.

“Three minutes, maybe four,” same the tinny voice from the speakerphone. Help would be here before he accomplished the daunting task of levering Sam into the car. He just hoped they had that much time. He nearly jumped at the movement under his hand.

“Three minutes 'til what?” Sam's voice was rough and the most welcome sound Callen could currently remember, easing the icy ache in his chest.

_It's your fire._

When Kensi and Deeks, and EMS and the bomb unit found them moments later, Callen was against the Charger, wrapped protectively around Sam, muttering about chiropractors and massages and back pain.

Sam's eyes were open, his lips quirked in a shadow of a smile.

_It's your fire._

 

 


End file.
